


Private, First Class

by zizes



Series: And It's Surely To His Credit [5]
Category: Glee, The West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zizes/pseuds/zizes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is at the White House when he receives terrible news. Josh and the other White House staffers — no strangers to tragedy — do what they can to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private, First Class

**Author's Note:**

> AU/reaction fic for 5x03 (The Quarterback), in the West Wing universe.

It’s in the morning news clips, under "Armed Services - Domestic." Two a.m., three soldiers in training at Fort Benning, on their way back to base after a night off. An unusually cold night, a little rain, a thin slick of ice on the roads, a guardrail. No survivors.

It’s not the sort of thing they’d normally pay much attention to — only if the president was going to be in the area, or meeting with the congressman with Fort Benning in his district. Combat deaths are different, but this is just a car crash.

When Kurt sees the article, his blood runs cold.

He doesn’t intend to say anything, but he keeps losing focus during the morning meeting. Sam has to ask him twice for Josh’s schedule, and then again for the location of the leg affairs check-in.

“You OK?” he asks after the meeting.

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he says. “Just a little distracted.”

“What by?”

So Kurt shows him the article, and Sam calls the office of the Army Chief of Staff.

“The soldiers who were killed outside Fort Benning. What do you know about them?”

“They weren’t on base; it’s not strictly within our —”

“They’re your soldiers, and they died, and I want to know what happened.”

“Can I ask why you’re calling about this, Sam? You keep ducking my calls about the budget issue, and now you —”

“Just tell me if they’ve notified the families yet.”

“They’re making the calls now.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says when Sam hangs up.

“Wasn’t much help.”

“Thank you anyway.”

It’s a beautiful winter day, clear and cold; the sun is streaming in stripes through the blinds in Sam’s office. Kurt knows he should go, shake it off, get back to work. But the more he lets himself think about it, the sicker he feels. He stares blankly at the papers on his lap, trying to get the words to come into focus. He’s vaguely aware that Sam is waiting for him to get up, but his body has forgotten how to move.

Sam leans forward in his chair. “Kurt, there are thousands of soldiers on that base. The odds of —”

“I know.”

“Yeah.” Sam sighs. “Look, if you want to call someone, or work in here, or go get some coffee —”

Kurt makes himself snap out of it, look at Sam. “I’ll be OK. Thanks.”

He goes back to his cube, sends out updated schedules, clears out a few emails.

Fifteen minutes later, his cell phone buzzes. He answers with shaking hands. “Dad?”

“Kurt,” his dad says, in a ragged voice, and the ground opens up and swallows him whole.

**

He finds his way to a stairway, going down past offices he didn’t know existed, trying to find a private place. He ends up crouched on the bottom step beside some ancient fire equipment, still gripping his phone, consumed by the shock of it.

Finn. He was working so hard, feeling better and in better shape than he’d been in years. He failed two units in basic training, retook them. He was supposed to graduate in less than a month. They hadn’t seen him since September — just a few short phone calls, shared between Kurt, his dad, and Carole.

Oh god, _Carole_.

He doesn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs behind him, or the voice saying something unintelligible: “I … there … office.” He vaguely registers that someone is talking to him, and turns around.

“I’ve been crying in this stairwell for almost ten years," Ainsley says. “Not continuously. My office used to be around here. I was in a meeting; I thought I heard someone. I thought I was the only one who used this spot. You’re Kurt, right? What did Sam do this time?”

Kurt shakes his head, not sure he trusts himself to speak.

“Josh?”

“No,” he manages to say, through a raw throat. “My —” He can’t make it farther than that.

“Personal tragedy totally unrelated to work?”

He nods.

“OK, then you do not need to be crying in a sad, dark, dirty stairwell. Come with me.” She holds out her hand and waits as Kurt stumbles to his feet, dusts off his pants, stuffs his handkerchief back in his pocket. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” she says, crisply but not unkindly, as she grabs his arm and leads him up the stairs. It’s oddly comforting, being bodily hauled back to work by a petite Republican in stilettos.

When they emerge, Josh is waiting by the intern cubicle.

“I found something of yours,” Ainsley says. “And while I realize you’re hideously reliant on your interns for basic management of your terribly complicated life, I strongly suggest you let him go home immediately.”

“I just found out,” Josh says.

“Thanks,” Kurt says to Ainsley, as she turns on her heel and stalks off.

“Kurt, Sam told me.” Josh looks genuinely upset, even though Kurt’s not even sure he knew who Finn  was. “I’m sorry about your brother. Of course, whatever time you need.”

He sits back down at his desk, receiving awkward condolences from the other interns. Through swollen eyes, he books a ticket home, using the credit card his dad gave him for emergencies. (Thankfully, the card was restored to him last week, after an unfortunate misunderstanding with his dad over whether lacking a pair of acceptable shoes to wear with his new gray suit constituted an “emergency.” He suddenly feels horribly guilty over that.)

His dad’s been in Ohio this week, working out of the district office. Kurt’s glad he could be there for Carole, but as he opens the door to their empty apartment, he feels overwhelmingly alone.

He told his dad he would call Rachel, and he does, before he can think too much about it; if he doesn’t tell her, she’ll find out another way, and that would be so much worse. Telling her is almost as draining as hearing the news himself. She’s in her apartment in New York, a tiny walk-up she’s sharing with two other girls. He wishes she weren’t alone right now. He wishes his brain could function well enough to truly worry about her, to think of something to do for her, but by this point his head is throbbing and he’s cried his mind completely blank. He’ll see her in Lima tonight, or tomorrow. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to get her voice out of his head, the sound she made when he said ...

He calls Blaine, and feels terrible because he can barely say anything. Blaine, crying too, asks if he should tell the others, and Kurt gratefully, selfishly accepts.

He wants to crawl into his bed and stay there until this isn’t happening anymore. But he has to pack.

As he drags his suitcase out, his phone buzzes with a text from Josh.

_what flghit are you on?_

_4 pm us airways to Columbus_ , he replies, and then adds _why?_

_national or dulles_

_National_

_ok_ , Josh texts back. _whats your address_

_in DC?_

_yes_

Kurt tells him, and goes back to packing, trying to push aside the unbearable thoughts in his head in favor of things he needs to remember: His black suit is freshly dry cleaned. Shoe polish is on the shelf in his closet. His computer has a playlist called “recs for Finn” left over from glee club days. He will never hear Finn’s voice again.

Shit.

He manages to get the essentials into his suitcase, and then forces himself to take an Advil and drink a glass of water before drawing the curtains and curling up on his bed after all, clutching a McKinley Phys Ed T-shirt (his own, but it feels right for some reason).

**

He’s woken by his phone ringing. He’s completely disoriented for a moment, his head full of cotton, but swipes the screen to answer before he’s fully awake. “H’lo?”

Josh’s name is on the screen, and Kurt registers, in order: Josh is calling him. He’s not at work. He’s not at work because Finn is dead. And like that, his breath is gone again.

“Hey, we’re downstairs,” Josh says. “Sorry, it’s a little early, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“You’re —”

“The car to the airport. I got you a car.”

“Oh.” He shakes himself more fully awake, runs a hand through his hair, gets out of bed and goes to the window. There’s a black car waiting outside, its exhaust venting a faint trail of smoke in the air. “I’ll be right there.”

Keys, coat, suitcase. Double-check for his wallet and his plastic bag of toiletries. Lock the door.

The driver takes his suitcase without asking and opens the back door for him. Josh is slouching in the back seat, his foot braced against the door, typing an email on his Blackberry. When Kurt slides into the seat next to him, he sits up straight and drops the Blackberry back into his jacket pocket.

“National, right?” he says. “US Air?”

Kurt nods. Josh repeats the direction to the driver.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Kurt says as they drive off.

“Yeah, I did.”

A minute passes. Then Josh turns to Kurt. “He was around the same age as you? Your brother?”

“Yeah. We were in the same grade at school. He’s my stepbrother, actually.”

“Have your parents been together a long time?”

“Three years.”

“Was that awkward? Being in school with your stepbrother?”

Single Ladies on the football field. A faggy lamp. A red shower curtain. Finchel. Dancing with him. “No,” he says. “It was nice.”

“Did he sing, too?”

“Yes. I don’t know if he told anyone in the Army that. But he was good.” He’s not sure how much he’ll be able to talk about Finn without breaking down. Glancing at Josh, he decides to give it a shot. “He was a really good guy. He was sort of ... All-American. What you think of when you think of Ohio. Quarterback on the football team. But there’s a lot more to him, too. He’s brave, and thoughtful , and —” He has to stop. Outside, they pass the Marine Barracks as they head toward the highway.

Josh is quiet, looking out the window. They merge onto the highway. The car smells of new leather; the heater hisses softly. Kurt touches his hand to the window, letting the cold seep into his skin.

They’re almost at the exit for the airport when Josh clears his throat.

“It was the night of the Illinois primary. Bartlet’s first campaign. And my father died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. And President Bartlet — he wasn’t president yet, Governor Bartlet — came to the airport with me. Chased after me, really.” Josh laughs. “He was supposed to be giving a victory speech on TV, we were this close to clinching the nomination, and he shows up at O’Hare at 11 at night and wants to fly home with me to go to my dad’s funeral.”

“Did he?”

“God, no. I told him he was crazy, and he went back to the hotel and gave his speech and got elected president. But I never forgot that.”

“Are you offering to come to Lima with me?”

“To be honest, I was hoping you’d tell me not to.”

Kurt laughs.

“But I will. If you want.”

“It’s OK,” Kurt says.

“Oh, thank God.”

**

When they get to the airport, Josh signs a slip of paper and hands it back to the driver. “Your flight’s at 4, right? You’ve got an hour and a half. I’ll wait with you.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“Yeah, but I want to.”

Inside, Josh tails behind him as he heads to the check-in counter. When Kurt hands over his ID, Josh pulls out his wallet.

“My dad paid for the ticket,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, but your dad is fiscally responsible,” Josh says. “Have you flown first class before?”

“Of course not.”

“Cool.” He fishes for a card, then hands it to the woman behind the counter. “Can I upgrade this guy?”

The woman types in his number. “That’s no problem, Mr. Lyman.”

“It’s only an hour and a half.”

“So you’ll be comfortable for an hour and a half. I have more miles than I’ll ever use in my life,” Josh adds before Kurt can object. “You wouldn’t believe the number if I told you. Promise.”

“And that doesn’t include Air Force One.”

“No, but the perks are pretty good there anyway.”

They sit and drink terrible coffee, in the only place they can find outside security. Josh asks some more questions about Finn, and when Kurt gets teary, tells him stories instead, about Leo McGarry and how he held their team together like a grizzly bear protecting her cubs, about (finally) the backstory between Ainsley and Sam, about Donna (this one he’s heard before) showing up at the Manchester campaign office and answering Josh’s phone.

“We look out for each other,” Josh says. “Even jerks like me. As far as I’m concerned, we’re family in there. When something happens, you don't need to hide it. Whatever you need from us, it’s yours. And just so you know, this is the sappiest you will ever see me, so if you breathe a word to the other folks in the office —”

“What, that you care about us?” Kurt laughs, and pulls out his handkerchief to blow his nose. “I hate to break it to you, but I think we’ve figured that one out.”

**

When he goes back to work, they’ve cleared off a corner of a desk in the intern cubicle to make room for a huge bouquet of flowers. It’s all white, lilies and roses and larkspur, and a card stuck in the vase that says, “In Memoriam — Private First Class Finn Hudson.”

“He was just a private,” Kurt murmurs, to no one in particular.

“I might have given him a promotion,” Josh says, appearing next to him. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t sure.”

“Just don’t let the Army Chief of Staff see it.”

“I’ll make Sam take the fall if he does.”

“He wanted it,” Kurt says. “Private first class. He said you had to make it through a year. He would have appreciated it.”

“Well, he would’ve gotten there.”

“Who’s Finn Hudson?” a new intern asks, stepping around Kurt to pick up a pile of papers from the copy machine.

Kurt takes a deep breath, and tells her.


End file.
